


Wish Apon a Star~Bat!verse Sherlock AU

by insulphurblue



Series: When You Wish Apon a Star [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insulphurblue/pseuds/insulphurblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bat!AU Sherlock verse. </p><p>This fic centers around a noted journalist and comrade of Mycroft Holmes, who after travelling abroad finds a curious little stowaway in his luggage. . .</p><p>
  <img/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Very Small Flatmate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/753621) by [Salsify](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salsify/pseuds/Salsify). 



_Star Light, Star Bright. First star I see tonight…_

_What’s the wish you wish you might?_

She curled up in a blanket, and closed her eyes.

_Let’s have a new life together._

_~_

It was five am on a Sunday morning, and he was already running late.

A press conference in Madrid; Murad was debuting it’s new line, and there were a number of celebrities pressed to attend. The event was also being used as a staple platform to advertise a number of charity events, and so in it’s way had become a media circus. Since high fashion was one of his (many) guilty pleasures, he was hurrying to shower and dress, as exited for the event itself as for the individuals his camera would be trained on.

Erin Ferrous, though fastidious in his grooming habits, rushed through them in the wee dawn hours. Of course he took time with the cuffs of his suit sleeves, and the collar of his shirt, which he left tie-less and with the top button undone for the look of youth it gave his slender throat. His cologne was something warm and spicy with a hint of something that smelled vaguely like apple cider… appropriate for the cooling days of fall…at least for autumn in London, which was where he normally called home, when he was in any one specific place for more than a week at a time.

His hair was curled just above his eyes and over his ears, in a color of platinum blonde like wheatgrass. This was in stark contrast to the pale jade color of those same eyes, which had about them a certain sharpness like cut glass. He was a tall, lithe man, standing at just over six foot four, with a certain severity of brow and cheekbones to cut through shadow and light in equal measure. He’d done his fair share of time in the industry-the fashion industry that was; in everything from cologne and shoe ads to spreads for Hugo Boss and Louis Vuitton. But as an artist, he preferred to be behind the lens; which was exactly where he was going today. Following, it was back to London for a couple of months to put together a new spread for winter for Vanity Fair UK. Work was never done, and he very much liked it that way.

It wasn’t without it’s lonely days, however; for he was in that hotel room in solitary mode. He was handsome, of course, and had no small amount of ladies constantly at his coat-tails. Some of them, even, he obliged. But it never lasted. Once there had been a woman-a model to put Nichole Kidman to shame, with naturally golden hair and a unique ability to wear lipstick the color of wild rose blooms and make it look fantastic. But her unnatural obsession with her own industry had ultimately ended up being the undoing of their relationship; she starved herself to woeful degree, and though he understood well the pressure imposed on women who walked the runway, there were only so many nights he himself could stomach being woken to the sound of vomiting from the loo. He’d implored her to get help but she had always refused… and in the end, it had been her to break it off when she had found a more desirable companion in a robust (and much younger) man and fellow model, named Adam. He hadn’t begrudged her; he was nearing 40, and that was a death sentence to most of that universes’ elite. It was a cutthroat world and he was too gentle a man for any of it. It had passed with no resentment on his part … and the occasional girl he did bed was usually enough to sate whatever appetite would arise. It never quelled those feelings of emptiness, nor eased the lonely flat back in London, but. Well, he had his work. And that was what was important.

Fixing an errant curl in the vanity mirror of the penthouse bathroom, Erin realized with a degree of dismay that he was going to need something a little heavier to hold his meticulous style where it was. And he’d left that product in his suitcase, which he’d still not unpacked from the flight from Sydny the day prior. Sighing a little to himself with displeasure (he was in a hurry for pete’s sake), he turned back towards the living area and went for one of the zipped up cases left standing next to the sofa. Heaving it up onto the couch, he pulled apart the double-zipper and began setting articles of clothing aside in search of his secondary toiletry bag.

In the process of his searching, lifting up his dressing gown and moving aside several sets of silk dressing socks, he heard a shrill squeak, and when he felt something small and fluffy recoil from his hand, he, too, gave a jump, startling away from the luggage with a look of disgust. Had a mouse found it’s way into his suitcase? That was vile, he thought, and decided the vermin had to go. He looked around for a moment, and, spotting his leather gloves next to his wool coat, slipped them on and peered back into the suitcase with the intent of snagging the rodent by it’s tail and perhaps throwing it out onto the balcony terrace ( ~~he didn’t have the heart to kill it~~   ~~maybe the birds could do it~~ ).

However what he saw was not what he was expecting.

The small creature was, at first glance, just a tuft of white fuzz, like a cotton ball, and large ears. On closer inspection, it looked like a miniature fox . . with folded, leathery wings. It was hardly bigger than the palm of his hand, and had a distinctive streak of black about the top of it’s head, corrupting it’s otherwise ( ~~very cute~~ scary) pale body.

The little bat looked up at him with tiny black eyes, and he had to get closer to it to see that it was visibly trembling. How had it gotten in his suitcase, he wondered. Where had it come from? Likely Australia, he thought-weren’t bats supposed to be black? This one looked strange. And it was so tiny. Thinking that it must have somehow hidden in his clothes and thus escaped the notice of customs … had it ridden from continent to continent, bumping around all that time? As that thought crossed his mind, he instantly felt sorry for the tiny creature. It looked so helpless, and clearly, it was terrified.

Not a rat, either. A helpful little thing that probably ate bugs. He only had to hope it didn’t have rabies. And he had gloves on…

"Hello there," he greeted, with a tone that was quiet, and almost soothing. "How long have  _you_ been in here?”

He nudged it gently with a gloved finger, and the tiny bat replied with another shrill squeak. “It’s ok,” he said. “I won’t hurt you… you’re not sick are you?”

Was it just his imagination, or did the little creature tilt its head at him…? “If you’ve been in there this whole time… it must have been a rough bit of a ride. Are you hurt?”

_Squeak._

He blinked. Well that was…odd. Or convenient. Almost like the tiny, ghosty thing had understood him (frankly that was ridiculous  ~~no matter how cute it was~~ ).

He reached to touch the fuzzy little creature again, and underneath his fingers, he could feel it’s shaking. “I hope you’re not sick,” he went on again. “Though I suppose I had best call the authorities, shall I?”

 ~~Oh bollocks~~. The miniature bat squeaked again, almost as if in protest, and wrapped it’s tiny, almost transparent wings around his finger, and dug it’s miniature claws into the leather. It was then he noticed a kink in one of it’s wings, like a hose that had been bent the wrong way. He brought it close to his face—

"You  _are_ hurt.”

It blinked at him, still shaking it’s tiny body, and looked quite sad and scared (anthromorphizing, he thought. He really needed to stop that. After all, it wasn’t like a bat could make sense of English. Or any other language for that matter.  . ). He really did feel sorry for it… it was far from home, after all, and probably in pain, and cold, being from Australia.

"You poor thing. You must be freezing."

_chirp._

"I’ll get you a sock for the moment. But we need to get you a vet."

The tiny bat shifted on his hand, almost limping with the damaged finger in it’s wing. He lifted it up to meet his eyes.

"You can stay for a little while. Until you get better. But if you have rabies, then the deal is rightfully off."

 _Squeak._ The tiny bat gave him a look of near indigence.

"I don’t care much to be the victim of a murder out of my own suitcase."

The tiny bat shifted across his hand again, and made a small sneezing noise of ( ~~disdain disapproval~~   ~~insulted pride~~ ) acceptance. And so Erin carefully folded the tiny creatures’ uninjured wing around it’s small body, and cupped it carefully in his gloved palm and went for one of his dressing socks. “Here,” he said, and managed carefully to slip it around the bat. “This will keep you warm, and keep from hurting yourself until I get back.”

The tiny bat made a chirping noise, and once it was secure in his sock, he lay it gently back in his suitcase amidst another mound of socks. “Now you just behave yourself while I’m away, and I’ll get you in to see someone, ‘right?”

The bat only responded with another squeak. But since it looked as cozy as he could make it, for the moment, he finished fishing out his styling gel, and slipped his gloves off as he made his way back into the bathroom.

It was on his way out the door that he reached for his smartphone and dialed the hotel management. “Hello,” he said. ” Yes, this is the penthouse. Can you put me in touch with a veterinarian? The best  you know. Yes. Yes, thank you… “


	2. Strangers in a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the vet, and a choice to make

The next morning found him sitting in a veterinarians office, still in Madrid… thought he’d had to call and cancel his flight back to London for that afternoon…travelling with an exotic animal had seemed like a bad idea…and leaving the tiny bat to be bumped around in the suitcase again was more than ridiculous (besides it wasn’t like he was planning to keep it of course). But he couldn’t just leave it, either … and turning it loose on the environment was just flat out irresponsible.

So there he was. He’d returned from the event late that night ~~or early that morning~~ , and had found much to his pleasure that the tiny bat was still comfortably restrained in one of his dressing socks… though when he peered in his luggage, it was awake, and blinked at him as if to say, ‘what kept you?’

"Sorry," he’d apologized. "I know you wouldn’t understand… but some of these designers are bloody ridiculous. Dior was nearly an hour late and it threw the whole event off."

The bat stared at him for a moment, tilting a curious expression at him, and he chuckled and reached for it, scooping it up once more and bringing it up to his face to inspect it.

"Are you feeling cramped? Should I let you stretch a bit."

Did the . . bat nod? He raised an eyebrow. No no, that was nonsense. Though he’d indulge it for the moment. Carefully, he’d walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed, and gently rolled the sock down, so as not to injure the tiny creature further. It’s needle-sized feet claws only snagged a little as he went to tug the sock away, and so he spent a moment un-catching it’s feet, tiny toe by toe.

"There you are," he’d murmured. "Better?"

A greatful chirp was his reply, and he smiled.

"You  _are_ a bit of a darling thing, aren’t you?” He’d lowered his hand, but the small bat used it’s tiny wing claws to awkwardly limp up the leg of his trousers. “I know. We’ll have that fixed strait away in the morning… “

He was there now, and the little bat was once again stuffed in it’s sock. He’d gone to sleep and set the creature on the bedside nightstand. It had made a small clicking noise, as if in protest, but he’d only furrowed his brow.

"You’re not sleeping here. Not until you’re checked and cleaned."

He was still trying to convince himself that when it’s large ears flickered and sagged a little that it wasn’t trying intentionally to manage a deplorable expression. But he’d gone back into the living area for one of his white cotton collared shirts (still folded) and placed it on the table for use as a bit of bedding. The bat hadn’t looked exactly thrilled with the arrangement, but, surprisingly, it was still and motionless the entire night.

Now it looked at it’s surroundings, appearing keenly interested. It had only given a small start when Erin’s phone had rung, and, seeing who’s number was on the display, he’d pushed to talk.

"Mycroft. It’s been a while. What can I do for you, friend…?"

As he talked, the little bat was occupying itself by squinting at a rather snooty looking poodle that a well-to-do seeming woman (shoes were Prada, handbag too-bracelet was Cartier. Clearly a lady of some taste-though he’d say nothing of her rather aging choice of perfume. Poison, perhaps?  ~~More like actual poison~~ ) had seated beside her. The dog, spying the tiny creature in the sock in his breast pocket, gave a taunting bark at the bat, who made a puff of air in return in retaliation.

He cupped his hand to his phone and said to the bat, “Don’t antagonize it. We’re not here to make trouble. No—what was that? I’m sorry, Holmes, I didn’t quite catch that… “

 _Chu._ The small bat seemed to reply, and ducked back in his pocket, till all was invisible but it’s tiny eyes-which had actually turned out to be honey colored rather than black, though one could only tell when the light hit them just right- and it’s rather long, expressive ears. It seemed content to listen to the conversation, until the snobby looking poodle began barking-rather loudly-still not lost on what was in Erin’s pocket.

He frowned, and said once more-“I apologize, Mycroft. You caught me in the midst of some …rather interesting business. Can you hold just a moment…? …No. I’m afraid not. Though of course you would be the first I would oblige with news in that case. One second please…? My thanks…”

There were quite a few good reasons why it was a Holmes that Erin claimed as-if not a friend (and heaven could only speak of his insufferable younger brother, whom Erin had had the distinct honor of meeting once when an acquaintance of Mycroft Holmes had been murdered at a UN summit… ), then at least a comrade in arms, since Erin had several times done the elder Holmes favors in the form of fabricated stories for the papers. Aside from this, however, Erin was of keen mind-enough as to not bore the other, and it was this sharp insight (though, particularly for fashion and potential news, as opposed to crime or politics) that allowed him to quickly surmise that the woman was, in fact, not of Spain origin, but was instead French. So, in eloquent tongue, he excused himself to the woman… “Parlez-vous anglais, ma chère?”

The woman, an elder brunette of ( ~~forty~~  forty two) some years, tilted a look strait down her nose at him and replied, in as just a snobbish tone as her powder puff poodle,  _"Oui… "_

To which he answered, ” I hope you’ll pardon my being rude…as I abhor it very much. But could I trouble you to silence your animal? I’m afraid this is a rather important call.”

"Then you should not be on the phone in an animal clinic." she returned. "Go outside, maybe."

Erin pressed his lips, causing them to thin in his dismay. Before he had a chance to return with another very snippish suggestion, however, the tiny bat in his pocket poked it’s head up once more and gave a shrill shriek, as if to follow his own request and her subsequent ill manners with a pointed swear of it’s own. Unfortunately it had the effect of aggravating the dog that much more, and it’s barking began anew.

"I’m sorry Mycroft. I shall have to return your phone call shortly. Yes… yes. I understand. Thank you. Much obliged."

He hit the power button on his phone, and just in time to hear the woman give a shrill cry and proclaim, very loudly in French, that what  _was_ that  _hideous rat_ in his pocket harassing her dog. He inhaled through his nose in an attempt to measure out a response, and looked down to see the small bat with a contemptuous expression (really? This was a very emotive little creature), the black streak over it’s head and down to it’s nose making it appear even more withering and disdainful of the woman than maybe he himself did.

"Madam, if you’ll refrain." he intoned, in rather posh English. "It’s a bat, not a  _rat._ Any more than your breed is the offhand product of a duster and a sheep. Kindly do not make an inference of vermin on a noble creature unless you wish the favor returned.”

 _Chirp!_ (‘Yeah!’). Thankfully Erin was saved from furthur undo unpleasantry by the receptionist calling his name. He shot a disapproving expression to the woman-and her vain animal-as he passed, and tried to hide his smile at the bat’s mocking chittering as he stood, and followed the secretary to the back.

~

"Well, just a bit of a splint, and this should be better in no time."

The doctor was examining the thin membrane of wing with a magnifying glass, after having given the once-more trembling bat a very tiny needle-shot of pain reliever. The bat’s largest protest had been when he had handed it over to the young woman with heavily painted eyes, though her exotic animal credentials and her kind manner had eased his own nerves somewhat. He’d come to find out the bat weighed a mere one hundred and thirty-two grams, and it was rather on the light side. “Have you been feeding it at all?” the vet asked, and Erin had shaken his head.

"No, I’m afraid not. I only just found it yesterday." -this long after he’d explained he’d stumbled on the tiny bat in his suitcase.

Now the vet was observing the tiny creature with focused intent, and after a moment she straitened. “Well. Other than being a little on the lighter side, and this wing, she looks very healthy. Of course we’ll run a blood test to be sure she’s not carrying anything dangerous (’ as if,’ the little creature seemed to say with a puff of air). She just needs a bath, and maybe a good bit of food.”

"I’m sorry," he interrupted. "Did you say. . ‘she?’ "

"I sure did! Your little bat here is a young lady. Probably only a few months old. Looks to be _Macroderma gigas_ , a ghost or a false vampire bat. . . Which is no surprise. You say you just came from Australia, right? They’re native there. Although I've never seen one with such an expressive face. It might be a fluke of some sort."

"I see." he hummed in interest, and the tiny bat, with her wings splayed open for splinting, tilted her head at him in quiet, measured interest.

"So we can split that wing… she’ll need a rabies shot or two and a check for parasites, which I can do here. I’ll get you started on the paperwork for an exotic pet license."

He perked an eyebrow at that. “I’m … sorry?”

The vet returned the look. “Unless of course you were expecting to fly her back to Australia.”

He looked at the small lady bat again, and she seemed to meet his eyes.

" …No." he said, after a moment, and a fond look  ~~might have~~  crossed his face. “No, that’s alright. I’ll keep her.”

"Wonderful. Now, there will be some educating for you both. If you’ll let me just get this wing splinted, we’ll get started. Were there any financial considerations, before we get to work?"

"None. Whatever needs done. I’ll pay for it all today."

"Great!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is in progress, as well as further chapters! Please like and share if you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and stay tuned for appearances by Sherlock canon charas, including Sherlock himself, Bat!John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, et al. Enjoy!


	3. I Dub Thee Shezza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin gives his bat a name, and learns there is more about his tiny friend than he initially suspected. . .

"Well? What should we call you?"

The tiny she-bat was wrapped in a small yellow terrycloth towel with her wing splinted. They'd arrived back at the hotel, and he'd placed her gently back on the nightstand, and flopped back down on the newly made bed with a weary sigh. "I'll give Mycroft a call shortly," he informed her. "And I'll have him pull some strings, so we can get back to London within the week.

 _London?_  The small she-bat twitched a look at him. He'd stated to pull of his expensive dress shoes, but on seeing the look, he chuckled.

"You'll like it there," he said, sliding his shoes just beneath the foot of the bed.

"A little cold for you maybe. You're probably used to the scrub, or the jungle maybe. But there are lots of things to see. My god, look at me. I'm talking to a bat."

As in in response to this humorous form of self depreciation, she started to struggle, as if to make her way out of the towel. "No no," he chided. "Stop that. You'll only hurt yourself."

She stopped, and her tiny nose wrinkled, and she managed to look sour.

"Any way. You need a name. I'm not just going to call you 'bat'."

She blinked at him again, and tilted her head.

"Ghost? She said you were a ghost bat. It's fitting. You're white as a sheet."

 _Puff_. "Okay. . .if you don't like that. Ivory?"  _Disdainful chirp_. "Powder?"  _Uck, no._  He sighed after a moment, his elegant lips doing an amused upturn. "That sorts my ideas. I've not done this since I was a child. Do you have any suggestions? Oh why am I asking you."

She blinked again, and a second later there was a small sound, almost like a snort.

"Oh, you think this is funny do you?"  _another nod?_  "I could name you after a foul tempered detective I know. His name is Sherlock. . .but his friends on the street call him  _Shezza_. It's a miserable sort of name for a total unsociable--"

_Squeak!_

He perked an eyebrow. That was enthusiastic. "I was being factious." he stated, matter of factly.

_Squeak!_

"Like that one, did you?"

Her little eyes closed, and then lifted open again a second later. "Alright well. If you insist. Shezza it is."

Shezza's ears flickered in delight, and he gave a warm chuckle again.

"You have no idea the legacy you just inherited. Shezza." he reached out and touched a finger to her small furry cheek, which she leaned into with a small, pleased jet of air.

" . . . Maybe neither of us do. . . "

~

True to his word, the next day Mycroft was able to return his phone call. "I need to bring in an exotic animal," Erin had stated in the message. "She's been checked out, I have her papers. . .but I don't want to have to have her in holding for months."

Mycroft's return message had stated everything was already taken care of, a car would be there for him the next morning, and take him directly to the airport for a private flight back into London. It was one time Erin was grateful for having done the British Government so many favors. . . it had most certainly paid off. 

So that meant that both of them had a day to spend together, and it dawned on Erin, following the veterinarian's word, that his new companion likely hadn't eaten for some time. The veterinarian had covered the bat's preferred diet ( _"They eat mostly insects. . . mice. Sometimes small birds. . ._  ") and instructed him to a place where he could purchase several small, bagged crickets to tide her over. "I bet you're famished." he said to her, once they'd settled on her name. "Come on then. We'll have a crunchy cricket for you, and room service for me." 

 _Room service?_ But she gave a little squeak of surprise when he lifted her and set her carefully on his knee. The crickets were  ~~mercifully~~  prior dead and now thawed, and he offered one to her dangling by it's leg, with a squint of his nose. 

She gave it an experimental sniff, and coughed. 

"Oh come on. You have to eat it. You heard what the doctor said. . . you're way too thin."

She gave a small wrestle in her towel and huffed her annoyance. 

"It's for your own good. Why are you being so stubborn?" she huffed again. "Come on. For me? I'd rather you not starve yourself, darling."

Her ears flickered, but that seemed to do the trick. She leaned up as much as she was able, and plucked the deceased cricket from his fingers. It crunched between her tiny teeth, and  . . . well. Her expression wasn't very pleased, was it? Like a young child forced to eat raw turnips. 

"I'll make it up to you when we get to London. I promise," he said. He plucked another cricket from the bag and offered it to her again. She chomped down on it with a smidgen less reluctance this time, and he smiled. "There's a good girl. Now I'm going to order my dinner. I'll let you out of your blanket if you promise not to jostle that wing of yours."

Shezza had no intention, of course, of doing anything of the sort (it hurt to move!), and so she nodded her understanding, and was still as he slowly unwrapped her from her towel. 

"There. Better?"

_Yes._

"Are you still hungry?"

Shezza looked dubious. She might be sick if she was forced another bland, limp cricket. Maybe  _he_ couldn't tell the difference. . . but she certainly could. Thawed out food was awful. So she let him talk on that. . . whatever it was, with the bright glowing light. . . and lapped daintily at a small tupperware dish of water he'd set for her next to her bed in his shirt. 

A short time later room service was at the door. . . and when it opened, the smell of something delicious entered the room. Lifting her head and perking her ears, she watched as he carried a tray back into the room, and uncovered it, seating himself in a reclined position on the bed, relaxing. 

She chirped to get his attention, and he was close enough to reach a hand out to her, and allow her to clamor up into his palm. He set her on the bed, where she started--(watching the human. . . carefully, to gauge his reaction) over to the dinnerware with a sneaky peek of her head. 

"Oh  no." he said, catching on in an instant. "This is not for you. It'll make you sick."

She puffed in response, and folded her wings as best she was able in a petulant manner. 

His own surprise was nearly palpable. 

"I'll be--" his jaw nearly dropped at the clear display of disagreeable protest. "Hell. . . I  _knew_ there was something off about you. . ."

As if to answer this, she leaned over his plate, and gave it another experimental sniff, and then looked at him with an expectant squint of her eyes, and nose. 

He chuckled a little. " I suppose I'll be soliciting Mycroft for another favor. Oh, alright. Since you're so keen."

Reaching for a fork, he made a cutting motion on his plate, and, with a napkin, offered her a half a noodle soaked in white sauce. "It's Alfredo." he said. "But I don't want you to eat much, in case it makes you ill. Deal? And you can have a bit of meat too, if you promise you'll at least have another cricket."

Seizing the noodle with a look of relief and gratitude, she nibbled it with tiny, sharp teeth, flickering her ears in pleasure. 

"Like that, do you?"  _Yes._ _Good._ Erin replied with a click of his tongue and an amused smirk. "You're going to turn rather spoiled, Shezza."

She flashed him tiny needle fangs with her smile, and a face messy with fettuccine sauce.


	4. A Ghostly Flatmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes return to London
> 
> (This chapter was rather brief-and I apologize for that, I've had an awful cold and GUH. I HATE IT. But next chapter we get to see Mycroft and Bat!John and Sherlock. Yay!)

Returning to London was easier than Erin anticipated. The called in favor meant a smooth plane ride in from Madrid, and a car on the tarmac to pick him up. Smiling at the young woman tapping away idly on her cell phone, he peeked beneath the handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. Shezza seemed to be sleeping cozily in her sock. The corner of his lips perked up, and he leaned back, watching a white London passing them by. 

His flat was a well to do and sizeable space in a tall building overlooking the city, and the Ferris wheel off in the distance. The furnishings were mostly modern, in various hues of silver, white, and black, with an occasional splash of pale blue, and glass. 

Shezza didn’t wake up when they arrived, but rather dozed in her sock; until waking up later in the evening and squeaking.

He was already in the kitchen, making up dinner, but the sharp noise from his bedroom caught his attention. So he’d gone in, and retrieved her from his nightstand and his folded white shirt (she’d grown rather fond of it, and he hadn’t the heart to take it from her), and brought her with him into the kitchen. As he’d cooked and cut, he’d offered her small tidbits of the chicken that he’d baked and was now slicing up for a ceaser salad. 

And so it was the next six weeks that was a learning curve… for both of them. 

And it was with the food that it started. Cuisine was as much an art form to him as fashion… perhaps, too, he had created a monster of his own when he’d slipped the tiny bat that same simmered chicken breast. Or had it been the Alfredo? It was hard to tell. 

He quickly learned that the small bat enjoyed the offering of chicken, alfredo sauce (though she was, apparently, not a fan of red sauce, as her first sip of the made from scratch spaghetti sauce yielded a sour expression. “Oh? Not a fan?”). Shezza also took well to a night of shrimp soaked in butter, and ate the entire shrimp, shell and all. In between meals she kept his house meticulous by fluttering about and devouring whatever stray spider or cricket happened to make it’s way into the flat. Although one particular morning, he awoke to a loud clamor from the kitchen and found Shezza on the run from a very large and irate hornet. In her panic she had flown strait through the suspended pots and pans and sent them all tumbling down onto the granite countertop. 

From then on, he kept her in the room with him at night. At first on her usual spot on the nightstand, although he’d rolled over one night in sleep, and heard a shrill squeak, only to find she’d tangled herself in the blonde curls of his hair to doze and was apparently quite comfortable there. The next morning over breakfast (she refused to touch fruit, so instead she nibbled on a piece of bacon he’d only let cook for a moment, as she liked it fairly soft) he offered, “You don’t have to keep a day schedule for me, you know.” He’d been doing a lot of reading up on Ghost Bats. “You’re welcome to stay up at night. So long as you don’t have another row with a hornet.”

She paused and blinked at him, and then chittered a little, a sound he’d come to fancy as her laughing. She quickly finished up her bit of bacon and only took a second to scrape her tiny claws on a napkin before she fluttered up and into his hair. 

"Hey!" he laughed, and made a swipe for her. "I’ve got to leave in an hour, don’t you make a mess of things up there!"

She squeaked a playful challenge at him, and when she failed to dodge his careful hands, nibbled instead somewhat lovingly on the tips of his fingers with tiny, sharp teeth. 

"I won’t be gone long," he soothed. "Just a quick press gag for the princess, is all. Nothing too maddening—ouch!"

There was a small puff of hair, and she managed to look both amused and quite pleased with herself. “Saucy thing…” he chided with an affectionate tone, and went for his coat. “Oh and, if you mind, I’ve a friend who plans to drop in for a bit later. It seems his brother also has a companion a bit like you. We’re to arrange a meeting, if you’re agreeable?”

She fluttered down to his shoulder and blinked large eyes.  _Really? There are more?_

"Quite." he answered. "Have you never seen more of your kind?"

She looked a little blank at that.  _Don’t know,_ and she fanned her leathery wings a little. 

"Well, the doctor did say you were rather young. Maybe you just don’t remember."

One of her rather long ears gave a twitch, but she looked pleased at that idea. Still, she gave a yawn, and looked towards the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the window. 

So he nodded, and carefully scratched at one tiny cheek, and then made a ‘shoo’ motion. “You go get some sleep then. And for the love of god, girl. You leave that spindly old daddy longlegs in the corner alone, you hear? He keeps the pests out same as you.”

 _Chirp._ She looked resigned (she liked spiders most of all, it seemed-he supposed it was because they were rather crunchy,) but fluttered off to the bedroom. When he returned home, he would find her suspended upside down, as was her usual when he was gone, from the decorative iron bar of the headboard of his bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Art is in progress, as well as further chapters! Please like and share if you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and stay tuned for appearances by Sherlock canon charas, including Sherlock himself, Bat!John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, et al. 
> 
> So, as a writing exercise, I do shameless self insertion fics. Yep, guilty as charged. These are my two OCs, based on myself and my S/O, in the Bat!lock AU verse. I was inspired to write this based on images of Bat!John on Tumblr, and more specifically, by the fic 'Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Very Small Flatmate", which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/753621?view_full_work=true . (No go read it for Sherlock and Bat!John, it's adorable!).


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